Years
by alfalfaba
Summary: It has been years since Wilfred Mott heard that familiar grating sound, so he brushes it off as his old mind failing him. But then there's a knock at the door and a young man with old eyes standing on his front step. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Also, I'd like to say that this isn't my idea, I just turned it into a fic.

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><p>It has been years. Wilfred Mott hears the familiar grating sound and thinks he has finally lost it (he's getting on in years, it's to be expected). So instead of jumping up in excitement he sighs heavily and turns back to the telly, memories flickering in his mind's eye (but he brushes them aside, because it reminds him of what was, then). Then there's a knock at the door.<p>

He's out of his seat in an instant (because what if he didn't imagine it?) but freezes with a hand on the handle. Does he really think it's _him_? That he has come back? It's been two years, he doesn't really expect it (that story is over). The knock rings out again, hesitant, a beat of five, four plus one, like it's an afterthought (why he notes that he doesn't know, he just does). Wilf spares a moment to hope, then pulls the door open.

It's not. His heart drops just a little when he sees the young man on the front step, decked in tweed (young people these days).

"Can I help you, son?" he asks politely. The man (boy really; it's funny how young they all look to him –it makes him feel that much older) hesitates, freezes almost like a shocked animal (deer in the headlights, that's the phrase).

Then he shakes himself and grins and offers a hand. "Ah, yes. Hello. I'm Joh- Jack. Jackson, um, Jones. I was wondering if you had a minute."

Wilf's apologetic smile is genuine. "Sorry, Mr. Jones, I'm not looking to buy anything right now."

"What? No, no I'm, I don't- I'm not selling… things." His mouth twitches and Wilfred notes his nervous tic (and the boy is nervous, he holds himself stiff, like he's ready for something; Wilf doesn't know what). The young man pauses for a moment, at a loss. Then he regains his focus and pulls a small black wallet from his inner pocket. It's a card, one of those student things they do nowadays (though for a moment, Wilf could have sworn it was just a blank slip of paper). "I'm a student, at the university. I'm, er, conducting a survey. Psychology. Family relations." He tucks the wallet away again.

"Oh, well…" Wilf is hesitating too, the boy's nervous energy rubbing off on him. "It's just me and my daughter here."

"Daughter, yes, good." He's only half paying attention but Wilf is patient (he's only a college student, poor chap; Wilf can remember college). "Anyone else? Granddaughter, maybe?"

Wilf frowns at the boy briefly, but he's talking about Donna and can't help the proud smile that crinkles across his face. "Yeah, Donna. You're not looking for a date, are you son?" He doesn't think the young man is, but he has to ask. "I'm afraid your not really her type. And she's married."

"Married, well that's good," the boy says, and the smile that breaks across his face is one hundred percent genuine.

"Yeah," Wilf agrees. He can't help but talk about her; she's Donna. "And a mum. She's got a little girl, Jenny."

The boy both puffs up and wilts at the same time (and his eyes… why didn't he notice before, those eyes) and his smile is heartbreaking. Wilf's heart lifts again, wondering if maybe, somehow... (But why, how?)

"Jenny?" he echos, far far away. "Good name. I'm sure she'll be a fantastic mum." He pauses for a moment, galaxies and eons away. "You have a wonderful family, Wilfred Mott. Thank you."

"Right. Well, bye." He turns away, an Wilf goes to shut the door, but pauses. "Hold on, how'd you know my name?" The man turns back (because he might look like a boy, but his eye's are old eyes, older than his, familiar eyes).

"I'm very smart," he answers with the faintest hint of a smile (that familiar smile, the smile Wilf would know anywhere). "Working on a PhD in medicine. A doctor. Maybe I'll be yours, one day." He turns again, and Wilf doesn't say anything, because he can't. But his heart leaps, and he's smiling, grinning like a fool while the sound of time and space fills the still Chiswick air.

Long after the TARDIS is gone he's still standing there. His smile has faded but the contentment left behind hasn't. Following the wheeze of the universe, he lets his response float in the air.

"Thank you."

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><p>Reviews are more than welcome.<p> 


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